


By The Book

by prettyboyangel



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyangel/pseuds/prettyboyangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas /can/ cook, but can't figure out how Dean's food always ends up tasting so much better. So Dean teaches him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By The Book

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first contribution to the SPN prompt thing! Written before 8x23 aired so a little divergent from canon, but still (as I always do) shameless domestic fluff.

They shut the Gates of Hell. Cas fell. They picked up the pieces and tried to move on, as they always have.

The bunker became home for all three of them. After a brief illness that had him in bed for days and Dean fretting over him like a worried mom, Cas slipped into their routine like the space had been left waiting for him. And, to be fair, it kind of had.

Sam continued archiving the library, cataloguing all of the books and artifacts the Men of Letters had accumulated over the years, scattered throughout the bunker in every little nook and cranny. Cas cleaned, finding a steady kind of peace in the visible progress of making a dirty surface presentable. And Dean, Dean cooked. He filled their home with the aromas of homemade meals, something none of them had had in a long time, if ever. He tried his hand at baking bread, letting doughs proof overnight on the counter, stocking their cupboards with tools Sam had never heard of.

Cas had tried to cook, in the first few days he was able to stay upright long enough to boil pasta. And it’s not that there had been anything wrong with what he had made; though he had fallen, he had retained most of the knowledge he had had as an angel. He knew the mechanics of cooking, understood the scientific processes behind each step, knew how to follow a recipe. The meals he had prepared were tasty and nutritious. But all three agreed that there was just something about Dean’s cooking, something special; Cas took up other household activities, content to do his part, whatever it may be.

One evening, Cas sat at the kitchen island as Dean made dinner. He watched, quietly, as Dean chopped vegetables and stirred a pot of sauce, lifting the wooden spoon to his lips with careful concentration. He shook herbs into the pot, tasting as he went, the aroma of tomatoes and spices filling the small kitchen. Cas’s mouth began to water as Dean threw a handful of chopped basil leaves into the pot.

“You aren’t measuring anything,” Cas observed from his perch. Dean chuckled, pouring a splash of red wine into the pot and stirring it around.

“Nah,” he smiled at Cas over his shoulder, hands occupied at the stove.

“But how do you know it will be good?” Cas asked, head cocked to one side in genuine curiosity.

Dean shot him a grin. “You don’t,” he winked, “you’ve just gotta trust your instincts, y’know? Feel the food.” Dean ladled noodles into three bowls, covering each with the fragrant red sauce. A simple meal, perhaps, but more than enough for the three of them.

They sat around the table and Cas lifted a forkful of noodles and sauce to his mouth, moaning a bit at the taste. Dean grinned at him from over his bowl.

“Good, huh?” He smirked. Sam chuckled around his mouthful of food, taking a swig of beer and watching Cas’s face.

“Dean,” Cas said, setting down his fork and swallowing the mouthful, “this is delicious. You must teach me.” Dean blushed, red sweeping his cheeks at Cas’s sincerity.

“Dude it’s just a bowl of pasta,” he mumbled, toying with the noodles in his bowl.

“No man, you totally should,” Sam chimed in, “this is awesome. I could never cook like this.”

Dean scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, blush firmly on his cheeks.

“Yeah, fine, I guess,” he sighed, shooting Cas a small smile, “I’ll teach you how to cook.”

* * *

 

The next night, Dean and Cas met in the kitchen as the sun was setting. Dean watched Cas roll up the sleeves of his shirt (one of Dean’s, he noticed with a flutter in his stomach) before turning to pull ingredients from the fridge and the cupboards.

“Alright man,” Dean started, pulling a box of pasta down from one of the shelves, “I know we had pasta last night but it’s one of the easiest things to learn so that’s what we’re gonna start with. Plus Sam likes pasta, so I don’t think he’ll complain.” Cas nodded, concentration creasing the skin between his eyebrows. “First thing’s first,” Dean continued, pulling out a knife and a cutting board, “we’ve gotta decide what kind of sauce we want.”

Cas moved toward the laptop on the table.

“Dude where are you going?” Dean asked, confusion clear in his voice. 

“I was going to look up a recipe for a good sauce,” Cas explained, opening the laptop and pulling up the web browser. Dean laughed from his spot by the counter.

“Cas, no,” he chuckled, striding over and closing the laptop. He pulled Cas into the kitchen and gestured to the array of vegetables and cheeses he had placed on the counter. “What looks good to you?”

“You want me to just…pick?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. 

“Yep. You tell me what looks like a good combo, and we’ll go from there.”

Cas took his time picking through the food laid out in front of him. Though the red sauce the night before had been delicious, he thought he might like more vegetables in tonight’s sauce. He carefully selected an onion, a red pepper, some mushrooms, a bag of spinach, a handful of baby carrots, and a ball of mozzarella cheese. He placed his selections on the counter beside Dean and stood back for his approval.

 Dean looked over what Cas had chosen, smiling a bit at the baby carrots, and clapped his hands together.

“Alright let’s get started!”

Dean walked Cas through the steps, from chopping all the vegetables to browning the garlic and onion in olive oil until the whole room was filled with their delicious aroma to when to add each vegetable and how long to let them cook. By the time they added the tomatoes and the cheese, Cas was finally getting the hang of trusting his instincts.

“Now you’ve gotta choose which herbs to add,” Dean smiled at him from where he was pouring the noodles into the pot next to their sauce. He had explained to Cas that they didn’t cook the pasta until the sauce was almost done, so that everything was hot and the noodles didn’t stick together.

Cas stood in front of the spice rack, staring at all of the little jars. After a few moments, he carefully pulled a few out, bringing them to the stove, unsure of what to do next.

“Alright, dude, throw ‘em in!” Dean nudged Cas’s side with his elbow, grinning at him. Cas opened each jar, sniffing the contents before shaking some into the pot. He stirred it with the wooden spoon and lifted a bit on the spoon for Dean to taste.

“You understand the spices better,” Cas explained, “I don’t know yet what to taste for.” Dean tasted the sauce, eyes locked on Cas’s all the while, added a pinch of salt, and stirred it around.

“Here, you taste it, see if you want to change it at all.” Dean insisted. Just as he lifted the spoon to Cas’s mouth, the timer for the pasta began to ring, shattering the quiet calm that had settled around them. Dean dropped the spoon back in the sauce and reached over to turn off the burner, pulling the heavy pot from the stove with practiced ease and care.

“Grab three bowls?” He asked Cas as he poured the boiling water and pasta into the colander in the sink. Cas did just that, setting them on the counter and standing back to await more instructions. Dean scooped noodles and sauce into the bowls, just like the night before, handing one to Cas and taking two to the table himself. “Sammy!” He shouted, “Food!” Sam strode around the corner and rolled his eyes at Dean.

“Dude I’m right here.” Dean grinned at him and gestured to the table.

 “Cas made dinner.” He reported, pride obvious in the tone of his voice.

The three sat down and Sam lifted a forkful of noodles to his mouth. He chewed slowly, Dean and Cas both watching for his reaction. Sam’s eyes widened and he nodded at Cas.

“Cas, man. This is delicious.” Cas blushed and inclined his head in Sam’s direction, taking his own small bite of food. It really was delicious, miles beyond anything he had been able to make before. He turned to Dean, a small smile on his lips.

“I understand now, Dean.”

“What?”

“I understand what makes your food so delicious. It’s not made with a recipe. It’s made with love.”

**Author's Note:**

> I told you, absolutely shameless fluff.


End file.
